"echo tango lima lima."
mciver took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands and forehead. but when he got up, his heart seemed to turn in his chest.
standing in the open doorway was a customs officer, his hand casually on his holstered gun. his uniform was soiled and crumpled, his roundish face grizzled with three or four days' growth of beard.
"oh," mciver said, fighting to appear calm. "salaam, agha." he did not recognize him as one of their regulars.
the man shifted his gun hand ominously, his eyes going from mciver to the radio sets and back to mciver.
haltingly, for mciver spoke very little farsi, he said, "inglissi me danid, agha? be bahk shid man zaban-e shoma ra khoob nami danam." do you speak english, sir? please excuse me but i don't speak your language.
the customs of ricer grunted. "what you do here?" he said in halting english, his teeth tobacco-stained.
"i'm... i'm captain mciver, head of s-g helicopters," he replied, carefully
and slowly. "i'm just... just checking my telex and here to meet an incoming plane."
"plane what plane? wh "
at that moment the 125 came directly over the airport at one thousand feet. the customs man hurried out of the office onto the tarmac, closely followed by mciver. they saw the lovely clean lines of the twin-engined jet against the murky overcast and watched a moment as she hurtled away to go into a steep bank to join the landing pattern.
"what plane? eh?"
"it's our regular flight regular flight from al shargaz."
the name sent the man into a paroxysm of invective.
"be bahk shid nana than konan." sorry, i don't understand.
"no land... no land, understand?" the man angrily pointed from the plane to the office with the hf. "tell plane!"
mciver nodded calmly, not feeling calm, and beckoned him back into the office. he counted out 10,000 rials, about $110, and offered it. "please accept the landing fee landing money."
the man spurned it with more unintelligible farsi. mciver put the money on the table, then walked past the man into the storeroom. he unlocked a door. in the small room, put there for just this purpose, were odds and ends of spares, and three full five-gallon cans of gasoline. he picked up one can and put it outside the door, remembering what general valik had said: a pishkesh was not a bribe but a gift and a good iranian custom. after a second, mciver decided to leave the door but left it open three cans would more than guarantee no problem. "be bahk staid, agha. " please excuse me, excellency. then he added in english, "i must meet my masters."
he went out of the building and got into his car and did not look back. "bloody bastard, damn near gave me a heart attack!" he muttered, then put the man out of his mind, drove on to the taxi runway, and headed for the intercept point. the snow was only a few inches deep and not too bad. his were the only tracks, the main runways equally virgin. the wind had picked up, increasing the chill factor. he did not notice it, concentrating on the airplane.
the 125 came around in a tight turn, gear and flaps down, sideslipping deftly to lose height and cut down the approach distance. john hogg flared and touched down, letting her roll until it was safe and even then using brakes with great caution. he turned onto the taxi runway and increased power to meet mciver. near the first access path back to the runway, he stopped.
by the time mciver came alongside, the door was open, the steps down, john hogg waiting at the foot, bundled in a parka, stamping his feet against the cold.
"hi, mac!" he called out a neat, spare man with a lean face and mustache. "great to see you. come on in it'll be warmer for you."
"good idea." mciver hastily switched off and followed him up the steps. inside it was snug, lights on, coffee ready, london newspapers in the rack. mciver knew there would be wine and beer in the refrigerator, a sit-down toilet with soft paper in the back civilization again. he shook hands warmly with hogg and waved at the copilot. "i'm so glad to see you, johnny. his mouth dropped open. seated in one of the swivel chairs in the eight-place airplane, beaming at him, was andy gavallan.
"hello, mac!"
"my god! my god, chinaboy, it's good to see you," mciver said, pummeling his hand. "what the hell are you doing why didn't you tell me you were coming what's the id "
"slow down, laddie. coffee?"
"my god, yes." mciver sat opposite him. "how's maureen and little electra?"
"great wonderful! her second birthday coming and already she's a holy terror! thought we'd better have a chat so i got on the bird and here i am."
"can't tell you how glad i am. you're looking great," mciver said.
and he was. "thank you, laddie, you're not so bad yourself'. how are you, really, mac?" gavallan asked more pointedly.
"excellent." hogg put down the coffee in front of mciver. with a small tot of whisky and another for gavallan. "ah, thanks, johnny," mciver said, brightening. "health!" he touched glasses with gavallan and swallowed the spirit gratefully. "i'm cold as charity. just had a run-in with a bloody customs man! why're you here? any problem, andy? oh, but what about the 125? both the revs and loyalists are all very twitchy either of them could arrive in force and impound her."
"johnny hogg's keeping an eye out for them. we'll talk about my problems in a minute but i decided that i'd better come and see for myself. we've too much at risk now, here and outside, with all our new, upcoming contracts and aircraft. the x63's a total smash, mac, everything and better!"
"great, wonderful. when do we get her?"
"next year more about her later. iran's my top priority now. we have to have some contingency plans, how to keep in touch and so on. yesterday i spent hours in al shargaz trying to get an iranian clearance for tehran but no joy on that. even their embassy was closed; i went to their al mullah building myself but it was closed tighter than a gnat's arse. i got our rep to call the ambassador's home but he was out to lunch all day. eventually i went to al shargaz air traffic control and chatted them up. they suggested we wait but
i talked them into clearing us out and having a stab and here we are. first what's the state of our ops?"
mciver related what he knew.
much of gavallan's good humor vanished. "so charlie's vanished, tom lochart's risking his neck and our whole iranian venture stupidly or bravely depending on your point of view duke starke's up the creek in bandar delam with rudi, kowiss is in a state of siege, and we've been tossed out of our offices."
"yes." mciver added gruffly. "i authorized tom's flight."
"i'd've done the same, probably, if i'd been on the spot, though it doesn't excuse the danger to him, to us, or poor bloody valik and his family. but i agree, savak's too smelly for anyone's taste." gavallan was distinctly rattled
though he showed none of it on his face. "ian was right again."; "ian? dunross? you saw him? how is the old bugger?" i "he called from shanghai." gavallan told him what he had said. "what's~:
the latest on the political situation here?"
"you should know more than we do we only get real news through the bbc or voa. there're still no newspapers and only rumors," mciver said, but he was remembering the good times he had had with dunross in hong kong. he had taught him to fly a small chopper the year before joining gavallan
in aberdeen, and though they had not socialized very much, mciver had enjoyedi
his company greatly. "bakhtiar's still top man with the forces behind him, but bazargan and khomeini're gnawing at his heels... oh, damn, i forgot to tell you, boss kyabi's been murdered."
"christ almighty, that's terrible! but why?"
"we don't know the why or how or by whom. freddy ayre told us obliqu "
"sorry to interrupt, sir," came over the loudspeaker, a thread of urgency under hogg's placid voice. "there're three cars stuffed with men and guns heading our way, coming from the terminal area."
both men peered out of the small round windows. they could see the cars now. gavallan picked up his binoculars and trained them. "five or six men in each car. there's a mullah in the front of the first car. khomeini's people!"
he slung the binoculars around his neck and was out of his seat quickly..~ "johnny!" |
hogg was already at the door. "yes, sir?"
"plan b!" at once hogg gave the thumbs-up to his copilot who immediately started to open the throttles as gavallan struggled into a parka and picked up a light travel bag on the run. "come on, mac!" he led the way down the steps two at a time, mciver just behind him. the moment they were clear, the steps
pulled back, the door slammed closed, the engines picked up, and the 125|
taxied away, gathering speed. "put your back to the cars, mac don't watch them, watch her leave!"
it had all happened so rapidly mciver hardly had time to zip his parka. one of the cars peeled off to intercept but by now the 125 was careening down the runway. in seconds it took off and was away. now they faced the oncoming cars.
"now what, andy?"
"that depends on the welcoming committee."
"what the hell was plan b?"
gavallan laughed. "better than plan c, laddie. that was a shit or bust. plan b: i get out, johnny takes off at once, and tells no one he had to leave in a hurry, tomorrow he comes back to pick me up at the same time; if there's no contact, visually or by radio, then johnny skips a day and comes an hour earlier and so on for four days. then he sits on his tail in al shargaz and waits for further instructions."
"plan a?"
"that's if we could have safely stayed overnight them on guard in the plane, me with you."
the cars skidded to a stop, the mullah and green bands surrounding them, guns trained on them, everyone shouting. suddenly gavallan bellowed, "allahu akbar," and everyone stopped, startled. with a flourish he lifted his hat to the mullah who was also armed, took out an official-looking document written in farsi that was heavily sealed with red wax at the bottom. he handed it to him. "it's permission to land in tehran from the 'new' ambassador in london," he told mciver airily as men crowded around the mullah peering at the paper. "i stopped off in london to collect it. it says i'm a vip on official business and i can arrive and leave without harm."
"how the devil did you manage that?" mciver asked, admiringly.
"influence, laddie. influence and a large heung you." he carefully added the cantonese equivalent of pishkesh.
"you will come with us," a bearded youth near the mullah said, his accent american. "you are under arrest!"
"for what, my dear sir?"
"illegal landings without permiss "
gavallan stabbed at the paper. "here is an official permission from your very own ambassador in london! up the revolution! long live ayatollah khomeini!"
the youth hesitated, then translated for the mullah. there was an angry exchange and mutterings among them. "you will together come with us!"
"we will follow in our car! come on, mac," gavallan said firmly and got into the passenger seat. mciver turned on the ignition. for a moment the men
were nonplussed, then the man who could speak english and another got into the back. both carried an ak47.
"go to terminal! you under arrest."
in the terminal, near the immigration barrier, were more hostile men and a very nervous immigration official. at once mciver showed his airport pass, work permit, explained who he and gavallan were and how they worked under license for iranoil and tried to talk them past but he was imperiously waved into silence. meticulously and ponderously the official examined the paper and gavallan's passport all the while the youths crowding them, the smell of bodies heavy. then he opened gavallan's bag and searched it roughly but it contained just shaving gear, a spare shirt, underclothes, and night clothes. and a fifth of whisky. at once the bohle was confiscated by one of the young men, opened, and poured on the floor.
"dew neh lob mob," gavallan said sweetly in cantonese, and mciver nearly choked. "up the revolution."
the mullah questioned the official, and they could see the sweat and the fear in him. at length the youth who could speak english said, "the authorities will keep paper and passport and you explain more later."
"i will keep my passport," gavallan said easily.
"the authorities keep. enemies will suffer. those who break the laws illegal landings and comings here will suffer islamic punishments. his excellency wants to know who on the airplane with you?"
"just my crew of two. they're on the manifest attached to the permission to land. now, my passport, please, and that document."
"the authorities keep. where you stay?"
